


Sing Your Praises

by itsacoup



Series: Secret Chord (Hallelujah) [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Come Eating, First Time, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3953440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsacoup/pseuds/itsacoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>When Zhenya thinks about it later, alone in his hotel room, he can’t even understand it. Fine, they don’t like him because he’s good, but their reaction to him being the best hockey player in the world is to tell him he’s bad at hockey? It’s not even defensible, and it makes Zhenya more than a little steamed up, lying on the lumpy hotel bed. He imagines punching faces that are twisted up as they yell, spittle flying, chanting </i>Sidney Crosby sucks <i>until they can’t chant past the broken teeth and black eyes he leaves them with, until he feels like Sid’s honor is properly avenged and he can rest easy. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Your Praises

**Author's Note:**

> Because why not? Thanks as always to the usual suspect, [nebulia13](nebulia13.tumblr.com), whose suggestion led to the entire second half of this.
> 
> Small warning for undernegotiated kink, which ends excellently because this is fiction.

_Sidney Crosby sucks._

Three words that are not necessarily unfamiliar, especially in that order. It’s one of the first phrases Zhenya learns in English, actually, because he hears it chanted in ice rinks all across the continent. He asks Seryozha what everyone was saying about Sid, after there’s some chant following him off the ice after the end of the first of a game in Philly, and Seryozha shrugs.

“Nothing nice,” Seryozha says, stripping the tape off the blade of his stick and balling it up, sinking it into the trash can halfway across the room. “People don’t like him because he’s the best,” Seryozha continues after carefully lining up the end of his tape just where he likes it, almost above the heel. “So they say he sucks, or that he’s a girl, or that he whines.”

“He does sort of whine sometimes,” Zhenya admits, staring at his own tape before deciding it’s adequate for now.

“Not as much as you do,” Seryozha says quellingly, and Zhenya lets it be as Therrien barks something from the front of the locker room.

When Zhenya thinks about it later, alone in his hotel room, he can’t even understand it. Fine, they don’t like him because he’s good, but their reaction to him being the best hockey player in the world is to tell him he’s bad at hockey? It’s not even defensible, and it makes Zhenya more than a little steamed up, lying on the lumpy hotel bed. He imagines punching faces that are twisted up as they yell, spittle flying, chanting _Sidney Crosby sucks_ until they can’t chant past the broken teeth and black eyes he leaves them with, until he feels like Sid’s honor is properly avenged and he can rest easy.

_Sidney Crosby sucks._

Zhenya finds the phrase so unbelievable that he can’t help but turn it into a joke. It’s quite a few years before he’s comfortable enough around Sid--when that edge of awestruck hero-worship, _am I really playing with a guy like this,_ has faded enough that he can rib Sid like he wants to instead of the friendly banter he doles out to every teammate--that he says casually to a camera, “Sidney Crosby sucks,” after Sid lights Flower on fire in the shootout drill. Everyone around him dissolves into helpless laughter, and Zhenya can’t help but smirk, because this is better than punching people.

Zhenya doesn’t overuse it, saves it for special occasions, like when Sid gets an awards hatty or delivers a hilariously neutral interview or smiles a certain way or--okay, maybe the occasions aren’t too special. He just can’t seem to help himself.

For two long years, though, he doesn’t touch the words, doesn’t think them. It feels too much like bad luck, when Sid’s days are up and down, an endless, teeth-gritting rollercoaster of _will we ever get him back_.

They do get Sid back, and for real this time, but Zhenya is still too hesitant to say it for a long time, because he swears he can still see the shadow of Sid’s concussion lingering in his eyes, and it still feels too much like bad luck.

_Sidney Crosby sucks._

Zhenya drops the phrase casually to Pens TV several years later during a practice with a silly bet attached. Zhenya loses, and he guilts Sid into taking Zhenya’s forfeit in addition to his own, and Sid is laughing and smiling as he does the pushups, hassling Zhenya back about how he never pays out. When Sid sits up though, there’s something unfamiliar lurking in his expression, and Zhenya does the forfeit to get the cameras to go away.

He also follows Sid home.

“Jesus, Geno!” Sid yelps when he closes his refrigerator door and Zhenya’s hovering just there.

“Sorry, don’t mean to scare,” Zhenya says, taking the tupperware container that Sid had instinctively brandished to protect himself with. He pops the lid--it’s some sort of chicken and pasta bake with what looks like entirely too much cream in it for Zhenya’s taste--and drops it in the microwave, setting it for a couple of minutes.

“I’m not really mean you suck when I say,” Geno says, turning around and leaning back against the counter. Sid’s back is to him as he faces the island, and the back of his neck flushes.

“It’s fine, Geno,” Sid says loftily, stabbing a celery stalk into a jar of peanut butter like the heathen he is. Zhenya knows that if he wasn’t there, it’d be a spoon rather than celery acting as the peanut butter carrier. “It’s just a joke, I get it.”

“Not a good joke if you don’t laugh,” Zhenya insists, and Sid bites into the celery, crunching obnoxiously loudly. Zhenya waits until Sid has chewed so thoroughly that there’s no crunch left, and says, “Only say because I think--so stupid, so _fucking_ stupid. But I’m stop if you hate.”

“Don’t worry about it, Geno,” Sid says, putting down the celery, but his back is still to Zhenya. “You want anything to eat? I have a ton of leftovers right now, I just did meal prep yesterday--”

“Sidney Crosby best in whole world,” Geno says, low and fervent. Sid freezes, and Geno moves closer, ignoring the beep of the microwave behind him. “I’m run away from Russia to play with Sidney Crosby. He’s score best goals, win best awards, captains best team. He’s best friend always. Nobody better than Sidney Crosby.”

“Geno, just--stop,” Sid breathes. He’s gripping the edge of the counter, white-knuckled, and he’s pressed up tight against it. The flush on the back of his neck is brighter, and Zhenya can almost feel the heat radiating off from Sid’s red skin.

“If you want,” Zhenya says, and Sid leans into the counter harder. “Don’t want to make mad. Just saying what I’m think, you know. You shouldn’t feel shitty, I’m sorry if I make that.”

“That is so not--can you just--” Sid says, not moving an inch or trying to face Zhenya, and Zhenya starts to worry.

“Sid, okay?” Zhenya says, and grips Sid’s shoulders, tries to muscle him around. Sid fights him, chanting, “I’m fine, it’s okay, don’t worry--” curling in on himself, but Zhenya’s panicking now, and he gets Sid mostly facing him, hunched over and arms wrapped around his middle, staring at the floor, and Zhenya follows Sid’s line of sight and--oh. Sid’s jeans are clearly distorted where his dick is swelling, tucked down along his left leg and presumably unhappy about the restriction.

“Uh,” Zhenya says, and his brain shuts down. Sid grumbles half-syllables to himself, and then says, “Can you like--leave, or something? I need to--be somewhere else.”

“No,” Zhenya says, instinctively and immediately, and Sid glares up at him. All Zhenya knows is that if he could be anywhere in the world right now, he’d choose here, because what he said gave Sid a boner and the possibilities feel endless as long as he gets to keep talking. “If you really want, I’m leave,” Zhenya adds, feeling guilty, and Sid is opening his mouth to snap something when Zhenya says, “But I’m want to stay.” Zhenya’s eyes are glued to the shape of Sid’s hard-on, shamelessly, and Sid hisses, “Geno!” and shifts his hands to cover his crotch and the tantalizing outline of his dick.

“Sidney Crosby best,” Zhenya says, sliding as close as he can, and Sid shifts uncomfortably, fingers spasming. Sid has clearly miscalculated because that twitch means his fingers tighten around his half-hard cock, and he bites out a groan. “Most best at hockey, always so good.” Zhenya takes a deep breath and an internal leap of faith and finishes, nearly a whisper, “so beautiful.” Sid gapes up at Zhenya, fingers going lax and cheeks blushing a deep, spreading red. “So good on ice, so pretty, I’m think--when else Sid good? When else Sid pretty?”

“Oh my god,” Sid says weakly, and collapses back against the counter, tipping his head up as he gasps in little breaths. He’s using his hands to prop himself up, so Zhenya sneaks a look again, and Sid looks harder and Zhenya feels smug about it. Maybe too smug, he thinks, as he realizes he’s experiencing a pants-related stress of his own. “Are you--are you serious?” Sid asks, and it’s plaintive, pleading.

“All serious,” Zhenya says, and quickly amends, “totally serious,” when Sid opens his mouth to correct Zhenya. “I’m mean it, and I’m want--I’m want to show you how I mean,” Zhenya says, and he reaches out, places his hand gently on Sid’s shoulder and slides it down Sid’s chest and abs. “You’re not--” Sid says, picking his head up to finally look at Zhenya, and Zhenya says, “ _never_ make fun like this, Sid. You perfect, beautiful, want to make you feel good, okay?”

“Okay,” Sid says, and he looks dazed, like he can’t believe this is happening, and Zhenya is right there with him but it’s definitely not stopping Zhenya from moving forward. Zhenya runs his free hand along Sid’s jaw--the unbroken side--and tips Sid’s head so he can drop a gentle kiss on Sid’s lips. They’re just as soft and welcoming as they look, and Zhenya lingers longer than he means to, dropping kiss after kiss around the gentle bow and the full bottom. “Mm,” Zhenya says between kisses, wandering along Sid’s jaw and nosing around his ear, tasting Sid’s skin. “So sweet,” Zhenya purrs, and Sid sighs, melting against Zhenya, twisting up against the exploring curve of Zhenya’s mouth. Zhenya slides his hand down to join the other one at Sid’s waist and groans, unashamedly shifting his hands to palm at the firm roundness of SId’s ass.

“So good,” Zhenya breathes into Sid’s ear, sliding closer until he can feel the press of Sid inhaling, fast and light. “So perfect, Sid, you--want everything, want every inch of you, you so good, but--” Zhenya slides his hands down around the lowest curve of Sid’s ass, tucks his fingers into the deep fold that marks the boundary between round ass and thick thigh, and groans. “Too good, can’t--can’t last.”

“God, Geno, please, do anything,” Sid pleads, and Zhenya is more than happy to comply. He realizes he’s facing a conundrum, in that he has no desire to let go of Sid’s ass but he also wants to see Sid’s dick, to touch it, to give Sid what he wants and deserves. “Give you what you want,” Zhenya tells Sid, because it’s important that Sid knows that. “I’m give _everything_ you want.”

Zhenya reluctantly releases Sid’s ass and slides his hands around to unbutton and unzip Sid’s pants. He pushes Sid’s clothes down far enough that Sid’s dick springs free and then he’s struck with inspiration. Zhenya slides his hands up around Sid’s waist and turns him, settling Sid tight against the front of his body. Zhenya’s dick is still trapped in his jeans but it would take more than jeans to prevent the roundness pressed just below his cock to have an effect. Zhenya tucks his head next to Sid’s, looks down at Sid’s body and the obscene jut of his cock between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his boxers halfway down his thighs. The sight makes Zhenya groan, long and heartfelt, and shift his hips against Sid. Zhenya drags his hand around the strip of bare skin, letting his fingers explore the angle of Sid’s hipbone, the texture of Sid’s pubic hair, the way Sid’s skin twitches in anticipation under his attention.

“Such pretty cock, all for me,” Zhenya says, and wraps his fingers around it, tests the smoothness of the skin as Sid chokes, rocking back against Zhenya and up into his hand. “You want so bad, and from me, it’s best thing I’m see ever,” Zhenya says, reverent, and rubs his thumb across the head of Sid’s dick. Sid shudders against Zhenya, rolling his head back against Zhenya’s shoulder and sighing, “Geno, please--”

“You so good,” Zhenya says, starting a slow rhythm on Sid’s cock, using his other hand to press Sid’s hips back into his own and keep Sid from stealing a faster rhythm. “Such a good boy for me.” Sid jerks and cries out, and Zhenya twists his head to kiss him hungrily, dips his tongue across Sid’s lower lip and into his mouth before pulling back to say, “So perfect, perfect cock, perfect hockey. Nobody else in whole world like Sidney Crosby, he’s best there is.”

“Geno,” Sid says, and Zhenya is viciously pleased that all Sid can say is his name so he speeds up his hand, pulls back to see the pleasure flit across Sid’s face. “That’s right,” he croons, moving his hips against Sid’s ass in tandem with his hand, ignoring the rough pinch of denim in favor of Sid bucking against him. “Just like that, want to see you come, bet you look so pretty, want to make cock empty until you know how good you are, until you believe you good.”

Sid arches and comes and Zhenya works him through it, watching in greedy satisfaction as Sid’s come stripes across the edge of the kitchen counter and up Sid’s shirt. Sid starts to pull away, oversensitive, and Zhenya gently smoothes his hand up Sid’s dick one last time, carefully running the side of his finger across the head to collect the drop of come left behind. Zhenya lifts his hand to his mouth, sucks the come off showily as Sid watches, eyes drooped half-shut. “Best,” Zhenya pronounces, and leans over to kiss Sid, licking into his mouth thoroughly until there’s no doubt that Sid can taste his own come on Zhenya’s tongue. Zhenya lets him go and Sid showily licks his lips before saying, “your turn.” He tries to turn in Zhenya’s arms, but Zhenya holds him tight around the waist with one arm, worms his other hand between their bodies until he can unzip his jeans and pull his dick out to fist it. Sid’s ass is flush against Zhenya’s upper thighs, so Zhenya points his dick down, tucks the head between the soft gap at the top of Sid’s ass. Sid pushes back against Zhenya, wiggles until a little more of Zhenya’s cock slides between Sid’s cheeks and Zhenya collapses forward over Sid’s shoulder, pulling at the base of his cock desperately as he runs his other hand up and down Sid’s body, from upper thigh up under Sid’s shirt to tight nipple and back down.

“Come for me, Geno,” Sid says, sweet and fucked-out, and Zhenya is helpless to obey, shuddering as his orgasm races through him. He lets go of his dick and clutches Sid tight against him, the satisfaction from coming swamped by the hesitancy to look at Sid’s face for fear of being told _never again_. “That was amazing,” Sid finally says, half tentative and half past giving a fuck, and Zhenya sighs, relief flooding through him.

“You amazing,” he disagrees, cradling Sid and picking his head up so he can drop a kiss to the crown of Sid’s head. “Sidney Crosby best.”

_Sidney Crosby best._

There’s an intrusive _beep_ that echoes pointedly through the kitchen, and Sid sags against Zhenya. “My food,” he sighs, and then attempts to take a step towards the counter. He’s thwarted by his boxers and pants, still tangled around his thighs, and Zhenya has to catch him around the waist before he faceplants. “Thanks,” Sid mumbles, and looks down to shove off his pants and tug his boxers back up. “Sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Sid asks as he’s taking his food out of the microwave to stir it, and Zhenya shrugs, tucks himself away, and goes to hunt in the fridge.

Happily, he finds a snack in the shape of some kind of pasta mixed with tomato sauce and an egregious amount of chopped sausage--probably Parma, because Sid is addicted as anyone to their sausage--and he takes the container and tries to elbow Sid out of the way of the microwave. Sid laughs, the big, open, honking laugh, and they play-wrestle until Sid’s food is done. Sid snags a water bottle and retreats to the breakfast bar as Zhenya heats his food, silence falling between them. Zhenya gets his tupperware from the microwave when it’s done, hissing as it scorches his fingers. He slides it over to the breakfast bar side of the island and walks around, slumping into the barstool next to Sid.

Sid’s staring at his food studiously as he eats, and any sense of ease in the air has evaporated. Zhenya reaches out with his foot until he prods Sid’s leg and then wraps his foot and calf around behind Sid’s calf. Sid looks up at Zhenya from under his eyelashes, face still turned towards his food, and Zhenya smiles as encouragingly as he can before taking a big bite of the pasta. “Yum,” Zhenya says appreciatively. “Thanks. Is sausage from Parma?”

“Yup,” Sid says. “I got a bunch of the sweet and the garlic the other day. Used the sweet for that and froze the garlic, think I might grill it later.” The quiet returns, but it’s easy again, and soon enough both of their containers are empty.

“Think I’m ready for a nap,” Sid says, standing and stretching, arms over his head. “You coming with?”

“Sure,” Zhenya says, and trails after Sid as they deposit their dishes in the sink and wander upstairs. Sid is on a mission to the master bedroom and doesn’t pause to tell Zhenya to take another room, so Zhenya feels brave enough to invite himself into Sid’s bedroom. It’s understated and soothing--blue walls, matching blue blackout curtains, minimal decorations--and the california king is covered in a tangled mess of sheets and comforter. The door to the master bath is closed, and there’s the sound of water running. Zhenya remembers with a start that he came all over Sid’s ass and that’s probably the sound of Sid cleaning up. Really, it’s a shame that he didn’t get to see his come on Sid’s skin and that he didn’t get to clean Sid up himself.

Sid emerges from the bathroom wearing a fresh pair of boxers and a faded tee. “Take your pants off, come on,” Sid says, crabby in a _you’re holding up my schedule_ way, so Zhenya shucks his jeans, pulls off his tee and drops it to the floor. If he’s being totally honest, he wouldn’t mind freshening up a little himself, but it’s not worth the risk of being relegated to a different room. Sid has already claimed the middle of the bed, but his phone is on the left nightstand so Zhenya drops his phone on the right side and slides in. Sid wrestles the sheet free from the comforter and drapes it over the both of them. “My alarm’s set for an hour and a half,” Sid says, and before Zhenya can comment, Sid’s eyes are closed and his breathing is deep and even.

Zhenya’s sprawled on his back when he wakes up, which is usual, but there’s someone tucked into his side with their arm across his chest and legs straddling his, which is not usual. Zhenya stares at the ceiling blankly for a few long moments before he remembers. Sid. There’s no reason for him to rush to wake up, so he basks in the cosy warmth of being half-asleep with Sid snuffling into his neck.

The moment is interrupted by the abrupt blare of Sid’s alarm, and Sid flails upright, flops towards the nightstand and mutters dire things until he gets it to shut off. He crawls back over towards Zhenya and tangles his legs with Zhenya’s. “Hi,” Sid says, rough with sleep.

“Hi,” Zhenya says back, and he feels a goofy smile spread across his face, which is quickly mirrored by Sid. Zhenya reaches out to smooth his thumb across Sid’s cheek, and Sid’s eyes flutter closed as he accepts the touch.

“You like when I say nice thing,” Zhenya muses, because his brain is still stuck on what happened earlier and he wants some sort of acknowledgement. Sid twists, trying to turn his face into his pillow as he pulls away from Zhenya’s hand. “Wonder what happen, I say all nice thing I think.”

“Oh my god,” Sid moans, and it’s much closer to _I can’t believe I missed that shot_ than it is _I can’t believe you made me shoot off so fast_. Admittedly, Zhenya has a very limited set of experiences with the second voice, though he’d enjoy expanding his set of experiences as soon as possible. “Can’t we just--cuddle? Have normal sex?”

“Can if you want,” Zhenya says, stung, and withdrawals a little. Sid looks at him, face still red, and Zhenya knows he’s pouting and he shouldn’t pressure Sid into anything he doesn’t want, he just--thought Sid had really wanted was Zhenya was saying, before.

Sid sighs and says, “It’s just--embarrassing,” turning his face to the side again. It’s weird to see him so shy; Zhenya is used to a Sid that varies from unselfconsciously dorky to self-assured and painfully polite, and this sudden rash of blushes is unexpected.

“Embarrassing so much you don’t like?” Zhenya says.

The half of Sid’s face that Zhenya can see is wearing a stubborn frown. “It’s _embarrassing_ ,” he insists.

“I like it a lot,” Zhenya says, because it’s obvious the current direction isn’t going to work. “Think it--most hot. Never see anything so sexy like you have hard-on from me talking.”

“ _Geno_ ,” Sid says sharply, before apparently attempting to drown himself in his pillow. Eventually, Sid has to come up for air, and he says, “it’s weird, okay? I don’t know anyone else who pops wood because someone said something nice about them and it’s fucking _weird_.”

“So what, if weird?” Zhenya says, quite reasonably in his opinion, but Sid huffs and tugs his pillow into his arms and flips over so his back is facing Zhenya. “Si-id,” Zhenya cajoles, and Sid throws a surly look over his shoulder. “I’m serious,” Zhenya says. “Okay, it’s weird. Don’t care. Still like it, still wanna say nice things until you come.”

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Sid asks suspiciously, and Zhenya manfully refrains from sighing.

“Yes, it bother me so much I come all over your ass,” Zhenya says seriously, and Sid flips back over and shoves his pillow at Zhenya’s stomach.

“Fine,” Sid says. “Instead of having perfectly nice, normal sex, we’ll have weird talking sex.”

“Can always have normal sex later,” Zhenya says, and freezes because what if--today is charmed, or Sid is just indulging him, or any one of a million possibilities that leads to sex with Sid being a temporary thing instead of the permanent, feelings-included arrangement Zhenya has realized he’s yearning for.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Sid says, and Zhenya relaxes as Sid rolls onto his back. “Well, come on then, have at it.”

“Don’t sound too excited, it’s bad for my ego,” Zhenya says and gets up on his hands and knees to crawl over and perch atop Sid. Sid is opening his mouth to chirp Zhenya back when Zhenya dips down, presses a kiss into the plush redness of Sid’s lips. Sid opens his mouth eagerly, and a thrill zips down Zhenya’s spine at the taste of Sid’s mouth and the sense-memory of just a few hours ago that it brings. Zhenya pulls away reluctantly to tug at the hem of Sid’s shirt; he’s craving the acres of smooth skin that he’s glimpsed in the locker room but never had under his palms, warm and wanting. Sid curls up obligingly and Zhenya flings the shirt across the room, eyes busy roaming over the thickness of Sid’s chest, the dusky pink of his nipples, the way the dips of his abs flash as he breathes.

“Beautiful,” Zhenya says, and finally, Sid doesn’t turn his face away at the compliment, accepts it and challenges Zhenya for more with his eyes. “I’m think always, you know. Remember--I remember first goal with with you, first celly. You come all the way across ice, I’m so happy, so excited, but I’m also think--look at Sid, so happy too. It’s perfect moment because you there.”

They’re barely touching--the outside of Sid’s thigh brushes Zhenya’s knee, and the point of Zhenya’s elbow is right by Sid’s shoulder, but it’s enough to feel the shiver that crawls through Sid. Sure enough, when Zhenya looks down, he can see Sid’s cock fattening up inside his boxers. It’s too bad that Zhenya can’t see it directly, can’t track the shades of pink and red as Sid gets fully hard, so he sits up and tugs Sid’s boxers off and pulls off his own as an afterthought. Sid’s still as Zhenya stretches out over him again, and they study each other before Sid quietly says, “tell me, what--what else?”

Zhenya drops and kisses Sid, bossily pushing into Sid’s mouth and claiming it because Sid asked, Sid wants it and he’ll give it to Sid.

“So beautiful at hockey, but most beautiful when you’re fast on ice, split the D and score goal for us,” Zhenya says, and looks down Sid’s body to see the red of Sid’s cock deepen as it hardens. “Watch highlight reels sometimes, always find a new one with different goals because so many good ones that all videos are different.”

“Oh yeah?” Sid says, twisting a little and putting his hand on Zhenya’s chest, running it up and down. “You just like me for my hockey, huh?” He’s aiming for teasing, but Zhenya isn’t stupid, and he knows what Sid is really saying, so Zhenya catches Sid’s hand and draws it to Zhenya’s mouth to delicately kiss it before placing it back on the bed. “Many things to like about your hockey,” Zhenya scolds. “It’s best in whole world, you know. You so smart at hockey but also work so hard, I’m like a lot. Nobody better than you because you don’t let them, always be lots better than everyone else.”

Zhenya steals a glance at Sid’s dick again, and it’s fully hard and leaking a shiny spot onto Sid’s abs. Sid is restless, shifting around on the bed, reaching for his cock and then stopping himself.

“You want touch?” Zhenya asks. “You want touch, or just want words?”

Sid thrashes his head back and forth, hands flexing into fists and relaxing. “I don’t know if I can come without it,” he says through hitching breaths. “Please, Geno, I need--I need to come.”

“Want to come how I want?” Zhenya says, and Sid squeezes his eyes shut, nods frantically. Zhenya settles backwards onto his knees, runs his hands down the caps of Sid’s shoulders and along his arms until he can wrap his fingers around Sid’s wrists. “Say if it’s not okay,” Zhenya says, and guides Sid’s hands above his head, crosses his wrists so Zhenya can keep hold on both of them with one of his hands. Sid bucks a little, strains enough that his biceps round out, and he raggedly pants, “okay, it’s good, it’s good, keep talking, Geno, please.”

“Most best hockey, it’s true,” Zhenya continues, and tracks Sid’s tongue as it darts out to wet his lips. “But good friend too, always look out for team and take care of us. Take care of me after Olympics, nobody else care like that but you do. Always make me feel special, important. Sid, you know that?”

“No, I didn’t,” Sid says, and twists again, arching up from ankles to shoulders to try and rub his cock against Zhenya’s body above him. Zhenya slides to the side to thwart him, shifting his grip on Sid’s wrists so he can lie on his side and run his other hand lazily up and down Sid’s heaving chest.

“It’s true,” Zhenya says, whispering into Sid’s ear and reveling in the whimper that escapes Sid. “Now look at you,” he continues at a normal volume, letting his eyes wander up and down the filthy stretch of Sid’s body, drinking in the flush of Sid’s cock and the desperate twitches it makes as Zhenya talks. “Can’t believe how beautiful, what good boy you are,” Zhenya says, and Sid cries out, a long, fading, “aa-aah.” “Arms so nice, can see big muscles when you try and get out,” Zhenya says, leaning forward to drop a kiss on the peak of Sid’s bicep as he tugs at Zhenya’s hand. “So red everywhere, with blush on face but so pretty red on chest, too,” and Zhenya leans over to kiss at the flush on Sid’s collarbone. “But best of all, cock so hard and needy, it wants touch but all it needs is me telling you that you perfect.” Zhenya reaches down and swipes his finger through the precome on Sid’s stomach. He brings his hand back up near his face and gently says, “Sid, look.” Sid turns his head and struggles to open his eyes, glazed and barely focused, and Zhenya sucks his finger into his mouth, curls his tongue around the bitter taste.

“Fuck,” Sid gasps, and he convulses, abs tightening as his cock bounces.

“You so close, hmm?” Zhenya says, and Sid closes his eyes, mouth working before he manages to say, “Yes, Geno, please, I want to come.”

“Okay, you come,” Zhenya soothes, and throws a leg over Sid’s, tightens his hold on Sid’s wrists as he tweaks a nipple and then lets his hand rest on Sid’s chest. He leans in close to Sid’s ear again and whispers, “look at you, be so good for me. Not touch cock for me, listen and do all I say. Want to be so good for me, don’t you, and you are, you my good boy.”

Sid arches with a sob and his cock jerks, leaving streaks of come sliding across his skin. Sid relaxes back into the bed, boneless, and Zhenya dives for the come that’s about to drip off the side of Sid’s stomach and licks it up. Zhenya’s cock throbs as he cleans Sid, and he spreads his knees and rubs against the bed, all dignity lost. He leaves a wide patch of skin shiny and wet before climbing on top of Sid again, needing to be closer. Sid smiles up at him, wide and loose and happy, and his hands land on Zhenya’s ass and squeeze. Zhenya bends down to kiss Sid but mostly manages to breathe into Sid’s mouth as he jacks himself off, riding his hand to the rhythm of Sid’s hands on his ass. Zhenya comes--probably across the stretch of skin he had just so meticulously cleaned--and collapses ungracefully, forcing an “oof!” out of Sid.

Zhenya blacks out for a few minutes, and when he can think again they’re slightly rearranged, on their sides facing each other with limbs entangled. Sid’s looking at Zhenya, clear-eyed and with a smug grin. “Pretty good, huh?” he asks, and Zhenya grumbles, “I do all the work.” Sid pinches Zhenya’s side and Zhenya yelps, trying to wiggle across the bed even though Sid had already wrapped his arms around Zhenya and trapped him.

“Very good,” Zhenya concedes, laying a smacking kiss on Sid’s lips. “Best, like I say before.” Sid’s arms tighten a little around Zhenya and they soak in the moment.

Eventually, Sid declares, “I’m itchy,” and twists away despite Zhenya’s protests to trot off to the bathroom. He comes back out and bends over--Zhenya thoroughly enjoying the view, of course--and straightens up to throw Zhenya’s boxers at him. “C’mon, we should have dinner,” Sid says, and Zhenya sighs heavily but deigns to pull the boxers on and sit up on the edge of the bed. “Actually,” Sid says consideringly, staring at Zhenya, “go raid my closet for some clothes. You need to run home and pack a bag.”

“Need to?” Zhenya asks slyly, but his grin breaks through. Sid giggles, sauntering over to Zhenya and bending down to wrap his arms around Zhenya’s neck. He proceeds to kiss Zhenya stupid, and when Sid finally lets Zhenya go and leans back, he says mildly, “It’s up to you, I guess. But I think you should.”

“Okay,” Zhenya says, because who is he to say no to Sid? “Guess I owe you normal sex, anyway,” he adds, poking his tongue out and winking.

Sid says solemnly, “it’s a great sacrifice, but for you, I’ll do it.” Zhenya smacks him on the ass, and they chase each other down the stairs, laughing. He has to backtrack for pants and a shirt from Sid’s closet--both hilariously tiny on him--but when he goes and comes back to Sid’s house full of light, Sid in the kitchen pausing in manning the stove to smile at Zhenya, well. It’s worth it.

_Sidney Crosby best._

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi at [tumblr](itsacoup.tumblr.com)!


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